


Camping

by estel_of_the_eyrie



Series: Reader Inserts [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, ImaginexHobbit, Tumblr: ImaginexHobbit, springtimeinmiddleearth, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8340028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_of_the_eyrie/pseuds/estel_of_the_eyrie
Summary: Here's a little thing I wrote sometime in July 2016 for the #SpringTimeInMiddleEarth challenge, using the prompts:- “I was walking through the woods when I stepped in a mud patch and now I’m sinking like it’s quicksand. I need help.”- “I walked into a spider web and I’m freaking out and everyone is staring at my impromptu karate.” as well as incorporating the imagine from ImagineXHobbit: Imagine Aragorn falling out of a tree (It DOES relate, just trust me)But yeah, I hope you enjoy :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little thing I wrote sometime in July 2016 for the #SpringTimeInMiddleEarth challenge, using the prompts:
> 
> \- “I was walking through the woods when I stepped in a mud patch and now I’m sinking like it’s quicksand. I need help.”  
> \- “I walked into a spider web and I’m freaking out and everyone is staring at my impromptu karate.” 
> 
> as well as incorporating the imagine from ImagineXHobbit: Imagine Aragorn falling out of a tree (It DOES relate, just trust me)
> 
> But yeah, I hope you enjoy :)

This had quite possibly turned out to be the _worst_ camping trip ever. Like seriously, it should go down in the history books as such.

And you can only blame one man, the man who had dragged you into going in the first place. Who even goes camping in April?! _In England?!_

How could you let your brother drag you into this, given his past plans, and hobbies? _One of these days_ , you mutter to yourself, _I am going to end up killing you and making it look like an accident._ Aragorn, of course, would have pretty much no idea, and would already be onto planning the next outing with Legolas and Gimli.

But the whole fiasco started the night before.

You’d stayed awake to watch the lightning storm, pitching yourself on the window seat in the lounge, cat on lap and more content. But even as the storm raged on, you remained fully awake sitting there. And then you didn’t fall asleep until it had finished. At three in the morning. And you were all leaving at seven.

When they’d left it to your brother to wake you up at half six, his iPhone belting out the latest song by some shitty artist you didn’t care about - being more of a Lindsey Stirling person yourself - you had literally lashed out to get him away from you. The couple in the corner of the room couldn’t help but burst out laughing at your hair, calling you Hermione Granger for the first hour or so.

A burning comment on Gimli’s out of control mane shut them up quickly.

Then came the news that Gimli had eaten the last of the Pop Tarts.   _Your_ Pop Tarts.

Storming out to the car, half an hour later, stuck with a measly toastie, you threw the keys at whichever idiot was standing beside you, heading for the front passenger seat.

“…… I call dibs!” You all but growled at them, wrenching the door open and lounging back, intending to go back to sleep.

Ha. As _if_ that was ever going to happen.

 

The trio were so much louder than normal - if that was even possible - calling up the rest of the rest of the gang to reassure them that the camping trip was _definitely_ still going ahead. It was most likely going to be the last full gathering of you all before University, and you didn’t know what made you feel worse: the fact that this is the _last_ time, or that you might never see _him_ again. You turn up the music, gratefully accepting the beginning of _Take Flight_ and forcing yourself to think on happier times as you sip from the thermos of tea.

About fifteen minutes later, while _so_ desperate for more sleep, you overheard something that piqued your attention.

“Lads, Boromir says that it might not just be us; he’s bringing Faramir and Eowyn with him.” Gimli remarks, causing you to feel _way_ more awake than you had been a moment previously. Your eyes snap open, and you listen intensely.

But nobody talked, not wanted to have to state the obvious. “Denethor’s being a dick again, I see,” you say, nonchalantly, ripping off the proverbial bandage.

Aragorn, meanwhile feigned sarcasm towards your sudden change in behaviour. “Whatever happened to leaving the spawn of hell alone?” he quipped, causing you to stick your tongue out at him. “Real mature.”

“Whatever happened to portraying the perfect boyfriend?” You responded, “Weren’t you supposed to bring Arwen along?!”

“Actually she’s meeting us there.” Legolas butts in. You just sigh.

Aragorn shifts slightly in the seat, moving to take the Red Bull from the cup holder. You snatch the drink, and down it in one before he gets the chance.

“I swear this trip is like a lover’s retreat, with the amount of couples going.” You began, pausing to burp in your brother’s face; while most of the world would see you as elegant, your were a pile of trash when dealing with your brother. “You and Arwen, the two lovebirds sitting in the back, Faramir and Eowyn -”

“You and Boromir?” Legolas teases from the seat behind you. Turning to glare at him, you catch the inflammation of your cheeks in the reflection of the window, so you decide to turn back around and stay where you were sat. You huff, crossing your arms across your chest as you try not to stare at the men in the car with you.

The snickering of the trio makes you think that something is amiss; you cave in, and glance over at Aragorn - who is attempting to remain as impartial as possible - when it dawns on you.

And you can’t help but punch him in the arm for it.

“You said you weren’t going to tell anyone!” you hiss, _desperately_ wanting to hide away in the corners of hell until the ends of the Earth. There’s more laughter, and you can feel your cheeks heating up so much that you’re worried that you might _actually_ combust.

“So she admits it!” Gimli roars, causing them all to laugh harder. Knowing that there was no way out of it now, you simply tell them to “fuck off” and turn the music in your headphones up louder, hoping to drown out their teasing.

God, this was going to be a long trip.

 

* * *

Arriving at the campsite was easier said than done; more than twice the car had hit rough patches of mud, and encountered enough difficulty that you had to push. You thought that it was miracle that the four of you even managed to arrive.

But at last, the engine was switched off, the gathering of people in the car park brightening your mood. You spot Boromir sitting on the bonnet of his Mini, laughing and joking along with Merry and Pippin.

Dashing from your seat in the car, you flung yourself into a hug with Eowyn and Arwen, the two closest to the car; it was nice to have some female company on the trip, and it was entertaining to find Arwen less comfortable with the idea of camping than you.

You got deep into conversation with both, the pair clearly surprised by your sudden hyperactivity.

“You stole his Red Bull again, didn’t you?”

“Relax, you know I won’t stay hyper for long.” You respond, still laughing maniacally. The women standing before you just sighed, and went to continue the conversation.

Or at least, they tried to. It wasn’t long before someone had engulfed you into a bear hug, pulling your back to their chest and lifting you clean off the floor. You squeal in surprise, bringing your knees closer to your chest as you descend into giggles, aware of who has you in such a grasp.

“Okay, Boromir.” You say, breathless, “You can let me go now.”

And he does, but not before pulling you into another hug. Merry and Pippin sprinting over to hug you once he lets you go. You laugh harder.

“I thought Frodo and Sam were going to be with you?” You comment, peering over their heads, and finding two people absent.

“They’re going to be late; Gandalf’s adamant that they stop at nearly every shop on the way over.” One of them replies, but you’re not interested in that. You smile kindly over at Boromir, who is not far away, laughing at the whole situation.

“Then let’s get moving!” Your brother calls from nearby, slamming the boot of the car, taking Arwen’s hand in his, and walking off, away from the path. Everyone hesitates before walking after him.

* * *

And so the ‘adventure’ began; as if called by something in the depths of the woods, you all picked up the bags and walked on.

More than once, the group of you had forgotten a bag, and you had to argue every time over who was to go back and retrieve it - more than often you lost the argument, but was never going back alone. So that’s how you, Aragorn and Boromir ended up so far behind the others, there was no sight or sound of them.

And then there was Aragorn who was adamant that you were all on the right route. Before admitting he was horribly lost.

“I _told_ you to follow the path!” You shouted at him, as he ran forward to see if they were anywhere close. Within moments, you’d both lost him too.

You call for him, once, twice. But you don’t hear anything.

In the accompanying silences, you and Boromir just talk. About your dreams, about your families - it’s mainly about yours, Denethor stays _far_ away from the conversation - and about the trip itself.

“I swear this entire thing has turned into a couples trip.”

“Hmmm. I know the feeling. I mean, yeah. They’re adorable and everything, but they don’t need to be rubbing it in our faces with every opportunity.”

“And they don’t need to be trying to set people up, either.” He quips, and you can’t help yourself laughing, mainly because it fit Aragorn’s actions to a T.

You also became aware that it was just the two of you in the clearing, your useless _lackwit_ of a brother having disappeared into thin air.

“Well this is fun,” you thought, aware that everyone else had essentially abandoned the pair of you. Now _this_ was so-called ‘friendship’.

“Pretty sure they planned this, getting us alone.” Boromir mentions, answering your internal monologue. His left hand brushes lightly against your right; while the initial contact is distracting, it’s not unpleasant or unwelcome. You find yourself hooking your index finger around his pinky as he tries to move away.

Given that neither of you had _no clue_ where abouts you were - no map, no signs, no _guide_ and no path - it was tranquil, and you found yourself wondering why you had been dreading the camping trip.

But you’d soon find out.

“We’re going to starve before we find them again,” he comments, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen unnoticed between you.  

“If we resort to cannibalism, then I’m eating you first,” you joke. “Sorry to put a damper on everything.”

Boromir shoves your shoulder in a childish manner, his laughter ringing in the copse of trees. But you overbalance, slipping on the mud, and as you turn to avoid falling flat of your butt, the bag is flung out of your grasp. It lands in a deeper path of mud not far away, and begins to sink.

You ignore how comical the situation must have been, racing as quickly as possible to your feet and race over. A wild stream of swearing follows.

Before Boromir can comprehend what’s going on, you’re already ankle deep in the mud, the bag too far to simply reach from the lighter areas.

“It’s okay.” He says, walking over. “We can always replace the stuff in it.”

“But it’s _Sam’s_ bag.” You respond, desperate to get it back. It had all the food in it, everything for the next two days. And you would go to hell before losing your marshmallows.

As you get closer, the mud to the middle of your calves, the bag sinks quicker before disappearing.

“Fuck!” You shout, essentially diving for it, but it’s too late. The bag is gone. You turn to go back, to trudge to the campsite - wherever it was - but you find yourself sinking as well.

“Don’t just stand there!” You scream at Boromir, who is still standing there at a loss. “Help me out!”

He looks around frantically, dropping the bags to the ground (once making sure they won’t disappear themselves) and runs over to the tree, grabbing one of the more flexible branches hanging down. Even in your panic, you are reminded of the scene from _The Princess Bride_ and you also hate anticipating how this is going to end.

You sink more rapidly as you reach out to him. He shouts for you to stop moving, and he jumps to get to you.

Before falling flat on his face with a squelch.

You can’t help but laugh; it hurts how hard you did, you’re certain that you’ve pulled a muscle in your side, as he spits the mud from his face, and yanking you out of the mud. He somehow manages to sit up, sending to fall on top on him.

“Remind me to never go camping again.” You say, staring down at him, the muddy trails of your hair framing both of your faces. You lean on one arm, wiping as much mud as possible from his face, pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t recoil from your touch.

“As you wish.” Is all he says, a twinkle of mischief in his eye, and you can feel yourself leaning in.

It’s not the kiss you were expecting, but all you cared about that it was him, and he holds your head in his hands as he sits up again, you in his embrace. You couldn’t care less that you’re both covered head to toe in mud, that you can taste it on his lips, or that you’re lost in the British wilderness.

You _do_ care that you’re being watched like you’re in a wildlife documentary.

As Boromir pulls you closer, your brother falls out of the tree, falling in the same patch of mud that Boromir had. The pair of you break apart, staring in shock, as Aragorn picks himself up, hanging himself in shame.

“Well, I hope that teaches you not to spy on us.” You say, trying _so hard_ not to laugh at him, Boromir already in hysterics.

“Okay lovebirds!” He says, completely ignoring your words, and picking up the bag Boromir had abandoned. “Back to reality please!”

“You’re one to talk.” Boromir mutters, tightly grasping your hand in his, as you both follow your inept brother back to civilisation, a smile always on your face.

* * *

Late that night, once everyone else was asleep, the owls out in full swing, you’d snuck into Boromir’s tent, graciously accepting a place in his arms. The pair of you continue the conversations from where they were before, happily discovering that you were both attending universities that are within an hour of each other.

You arms are wrapped tightly around Boromir as you both clamber for the perfect camping selfie. You’d taken probably twenty or so, a combination of stupid faces, adorable and typical couple photos, before both phones decided to go caput.

Both of you were still hungry; dinner had been a disaster given that most of the food was now at the bottom of a quicksand-like puddle of mud, so you’d all had whatever snacks people (as in Merry and Pippin) had hidden away in the rest of the bags. Somehow, he’d managed to squander away the Haribo, a miraculous task, given their love for it.

“They’re going to kill us when they found out we stole it.” You commented, fishing out the last fried egg in the packet.

“Maybe.” He replies, “But they’ll only find out once they realise we stole the marshmallows as well.” He pulls the bag from behind his pillow, and you laugh as loud as you dare. You rip open the packet and are about to delve into the fluffy delights, when a scream and muffled swear brings you back to the present.

Within moments, all of you are running towards the source of noise. Though it is not too far, the distance feels like a marathon. Everyone has an array of torches, of makeshift weapons - branches, keys and spare tent pegs - but when you see what the noise is, you cannot help but facepalm.

Aragorn, screaming a vast selection of swears, covered in - something. You guess a spider’s web, given the profanities towards his one true fear, and laugh harder at his make-shift karate.

While most of you end up laughing, Faramir hands you his phone, and you are more than willing to film the entire situation. Boromir’s arm is soon around your shoulders, and you feel more content in leaning into his chest.

“Never let me forget this moment.”

“As you wish.”


End file.
